


Two for Two

by Pendancy



Category: Death Note
Genre: Other, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pendancy/pseuds/Pendancy
Summary: Sometimes I hope that Mello never gets to first. He’s got a death wish, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Needed to get some Wammy's Era Matt out of me. This was supposed to be a drabble. Went on for a lot longer than that. I'll probably make it a thing at some point.

Mello is having one of his tantrums again.   
  
This time, it has something to do with L having been here and not letting on. He’s punching the table when he talks like some kind of big-shot, and Roger isn’t doing shit about it. Ever since that one time he got to meet The Father of Us All, he thinks it’s everyone’s job to let him know when L comes and goes.   
  
If L wanted to see him, he’d see him. Guys like that don’t let anything get in their way.   
  
I think L messed his head up, but I know better than to say anything. It’s easier to just nod and listen when M goes on one of his monologues about how he beat Near that one time, because L doesn’t just _talk_ to people like that. Especially not for hours. Because Mello is better somehow; L’s probably planning on pushing him into first-place even though Near keeps kicking his ass on every exam.   
  
Whatever. I don’t worry about stuff like that.   
  
Roger finally has enough of Mello’s shit and raises his voice, and all I can hear from the other side of the door is a crash and another bang, and Mello’s _screeching_ like a girl—fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—and I’m frozen. I think he might actually be choking the old guy, but I know for a fact that there aren’t any cameras in the hall. No one can prove that I was here. I’m thumbing the cigarette in my pocket that I lifted from Mrs. Aller’s desk and waiting for it to get worse.   
  
I feel bad just standing here. I mean, Roger isn’t exactly a nice guy, but nobody deserves to get choked out by Mello. Option two is to go in there and do something about it, but that would mess with the balance I have between being within punching distance of Wammy’s most volatile psycho and my own safety. Think I’ll pass.   
  
I knew that M was gonna snap one day; I just didn’t think it would end in a murder charge. Not the first break, anyway.   
  
Now it’s quiet and that’s setting off all kinds of alarms. If Roger isn’t around, they’ll hand his position off to god-knows-who and maybe I won’t be able to sneak out on the roof to smoke anymore. Maybe they’ll put us all on lockdown, because a bunch of pissed-off genius kids is something no one wants to deal with. Especially Roger right now, I’m guessing.   
  
Okay. _Okay._ I pound on the door because what else am I supposed to do?   
  
“M!” And here I am putting my ass on the line for an old guy who nicks my smokes whenever I’m lucky enough to grab a whole pack off of the chubby kid. Maybe he’ll stop now. “M, come on!”   
  
That’s all they’re getting. Sorry, Roger. I back up, ready for the door to open and my night to get _really_ bad. Like not being able to move my neck tomorrow bad.   
  
But when it opens, Mello doesn’t even look at me, and Roger’s face is all red like that time me and M played the slap game in the east wing bathroom. I’m surprised I didn’t lose a few teeth that day. The room is _trashed_ with papers all over the floor and two lamps knocked over on their sides. One is downright smashed and the pieces make me wonder what’ll happen if M decides to take this shit out on me.   
  
“Mello!” Roger’s yelling after M—coughing and rubbing at his throat— after he makes a point of slamming into my shoulder on his way to stalk down the hall. It knocks me back hard enough that I have to grab onto the doorframe to keep from eating floor, and all I can think is that for a guy in charge of some of England’s smartest, Roger isn’t too bright. The kid just choked you. Let him go cool off.   
  
Guess I’m not much smarter, because I’m leaving the wreckage behind and picking up my pace to keep up with M. He’s all black clothes and a bright head, and his hair makes him look like one of those Vogue models when it sways back and forth like that. It’s kind of funny. Can’t laugh, though. I’m just glad that I’m looking at the back of his head instead of the bottom of his foot.   
  
They’re always telling us to appreciate the small things.   
  
“Hey, wait up.”   
  
“Fuck off, Matt.” His voice is strained like someone who’s just been screeching like a bitch.   
  
“You running again?”   
  
“So what?”   
  
So what. The ‘what’ is the last time Mello hopped the gate and made it halfway through London before the bobbies picked him up, the staff came into my room and went through my stuff like _I_ knew something about it. It would be great if we could avoid that happening again.   
  
“Just come cool off. They’re just gonna bring you back.”   
  
“I said fuck OFF!” But he’s not looking at me. No, he’s making a sharp left and bee-lining for the main entrance.   
  
“You don’t even know why you’re mad!”   
  
“One more.”   
  
At least I get the courtesy of a warning.   
  
“They’re gonna tell L that you lost your fucking mind. Just stop!”   
  
And that stops him. Thank god.   
  
Now we’re headed up to the roof, and word has already gotten around that the crazy kid is acting up again. No one will look at us directly and everything is dead quiet. They’re waiting for something else, something to talk about while they wonder why the fuck Mello is second and they’re not.   
  
Me? I’m happy being third. I get to avoid pressure like having L tell me bedtime stories while still being better than mostly everyone else. M says I’m lazy. I think my way’s the smart way. Besides, now that Kira’s in the picture, they’ve been pushing us harder like L just might not make it.   
  
Sometimes I hope that Mello never gets to first. He’s got a death wish, though.   
  
Mello _slams_ the door to the attic stairwell open and the knob knocks against the wall loud enough to wake up anyone who decided to follow curfew. I’ll probably have to keep low tomorrow unless I want a pack of curious dumbasses surrounding me and asking me about this whole thing. Like it matters. Mello falling out of line won’t get them any higher. They’d still have me to deal with.   
  
“They’re gonna dock you if you keep freaking out, you know.” I light up right after we climb through the window, because I know that the next hour is going to be listening to Mello bitch about things that don’t really affect me. Except for when it comes to damage control. You’re welcome, Roger.   
  
But he’s not answering. He’s silent, standing on the edge of the roof staring at absolutely nothing. Sometimes he’ll do this after a blow-up. Just kind of sink into this quiet that makes me nervous. I’d rather have him screaming and threatening to bash heads. At least then he’s predictable.   
  
“No, they won’t,” he says finally and he’s right. They won’t. The top three get away with more shit than anyone else could ever hope to pull off. That’s why I don’t bother closing the window behind me when I smoke and why the write-ups never make it into the system. Roger keeps them in a folder, makes sure that I see him put them in there. I guess he doesn’t know any better. I’ve had access to my file for over a year, now. Ever since they told me I was on Strike Two. Turns out there aren’t any strikes.   
  
“You’re standing really close to the edge, man.”   
  
“So?”   
  
“So I don’t wanna be second.” And that’s the fucking truth. “Besides, I don’t feel like scraping your brains out of the grass when I’ve gotta cover this whole thing up.”   
  
I’m hoping he’ll at least smile. He doesn’t.   
  
My cigarette is half-gone and I’m definitely wishing that I’d grabbed more than one. I had the chance. I flick the ashes and watch M’s hair pick up when the breeze hits. He won’t look at me, and I know he’s pretty pissed.   
  
And I really don’t like L, right now. How hard would it have been to drop by for three minutes? I get that he’s busy. I do. He’s like one of the most important men on earth, but a few minutes would have prevented this whole thing. Maybe I’ll say something to him if I ever get the chance.   
  
I probably won’t.   
  
Mello looks like he needs this cigarette a lot more than I do. “Here.”   
  
He shakes his head. He’s always so damn dismissive when he’s in one of his moods. Which is often. Mello’s just like that, I guess.   
  
“You sure?”   
  
“It was in your mouth.”   
  
“So?”   
  
“So that’s fucking gross.” Guess I should just leave it alone. “What do you think he’s doing?”  
  
“Who.”   
  
“ _L_.” Oh, now I get a glare. Touchy.   
  
“Working?” What else? “Kira’s a pretty big deal, in case you haven’t noticed.”   
  
“No shit, Matt.”   
  
I hate when he uses my name like that. It’s like venom. I’m right here.   
  
So what does he want me to say?  
  
“Exams are in like.” I take my last puff, flick the filter off of the side. It falls a long way. I really wish Mello would step back from the edge. “Two weeks. If you cram, you’ve got a shot at beating N.”   
  
“I’ve got a shot anyway.”   
  
Liar.   
  
“Maybe.” I shrug. Anything to take his mind off of L. Near seems to be the only thing that does it. Mello can’t deal with the competition. He loses his mind every time.   
  
“You’re _third_ ,” he spits like I’m supposed to be insulted. “Besides. I don’t need to cram. I’ve got it all right here.” And he taps the side of his head with his finger.   
  
“L would.”   
  
“You don’t know shit about L.”   
  
No. And I don’t want to. If one meeting with the guy has you standing on the edge of a building four stories up, I’m not interested.   
  
“And fuck Near.” Here he goes. “If that little shit had half the chance that I do, L would’ve talked to him instead.”  
  
“So you think you’ve just got it bagged then.”   
  
“N’s done, Matt. He was done when L chose me.”   
  
There’s the smile. One of those creepy smiles that makes me want to back off. Go back inside and let M brood over L out here by himself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile out of happiness one time. There’s always something messed up behind it, like the time he dragged that loud kid over the gravel by the back of his shirt for telling anyone who would listen that Mello looks like a girl.   
  
“You really ready to be L?” Sometimes I think that Mello doesn’t understand what it entails. He wants the power, the glory. He wants it so N can’t have it. He wants it so everyone can recognize that _he_ made it. Big chance that it’s not about the job, at all.   
  
“I’ve been ready.”   
  
“All right.”   
  
Then again, Mello has always been kind of a big deal.


End file.
